When Demons Run
by ThePirateSwan
Summary: Smutty smut smut. Really kinky smut. Trigger warnings! Contains dub con, rape play, pursuit and takedown. Read at your own risk. CS Kink.


**Okay. So fair warning, this contains rape-play. Consensual non-consent and dub con. Rough Sex, degradation. Don't read if these are triggers for you.**

When Demons Run

Emma Swan is running through the woods just outside of Storybrooke, branches catching on her oversized button down, boots caked in dirt. Her lungs feel like the air is being vacuumed out of them, heart pounding against her ribcage. Spinning, she flattens herself against a tree trunk, the bark scraping through the thin material. She tries her hardest to stay quiet, to even out her breathing so she can hear.

Nothing.

Slowly she lets out the breath. Running her fingers through her tangled hair she slumps against the tree, looking up into the iridescent leaves, the sunlight drifting through in a serene dance. A nearby bush rustles and she jumps into a sprint again, but she's not fast enough.

A hand roughly grabs hold of her arm, pulls her back against a hard body. She sucks in air as the hook flashes to her throat, the sharp tip barely touching her skin. It's a threat, a warning. Don't move. His breath fans out over her neck, making her shiver and she can hear him chuckle; can almost _see_ the smirk on his lips.

"You lose, darling."

And suddenly he's kicked her legs out from underneath her and his hand is in her hair, pulling her even as she falls to her knees. The hook is gone, but the message is still there as he drags her through the woods. Her leggings are going to be ripped to pieces if he goes on like this and she's certain that's the very point. He wants her defenseless, completely at his mercy.

Long minutes pass by as they make their way through the thickets, Emma trashing and kicking and biting with all she's got because _this_ is meant to be all cards on the table, no holding back. But Killian knows her too well and she only gets a few hits before he's shoving her forward again with his leg, his grip on her hair never diminishing. And soon enough, just beyond the bushes and bramble, she can make out a lone cabin. They're far out into the trees and no one will hear her screaming, they certainly haven't _until_ now.

He kicks open the door and nearly _throws_ her in, causing her to lose her balance and reel face first into the hardwood floor. She's scrambling to get up already, but she knows it's no use, can already hear the door locking behind her. She whips around to face him, defiance rushing through her veins at the sight. He's just leaning there, black leather jacket discarded onto a nearby couch, white V-neck stretching deliciously across his toned chest and shoulders and she can't _help_ the flush that's trying to burn it's way across her skin. He's just smirking at her, arms and boots crossed.

"Emma, Emma, Emma. You know what happens next. You've lost." His tone is friendly and suddenly the room feels too small. She takes a step back as he takes one forward, over and over until she's against the opposite wall and he's just a few feet away, close enough to reach out and touch her.

"Strip." His expression goes ice cold and she is almost trembling, _she won't let him get the better of her,_ as her fingers quickly work at the laces of her boots. She's too slow apparently because he's right in front of her when she straightens. His lips are a hair's breadth away from hers and her blood is pumping loudly in her ears but all she's aware of, all she can focus on, is _him_, the feel of his body against hers, his fingers wrapping around her throat, cool metal slipping between her breasts and ripping away the fabric like it's just air. His impossibly blue eyes travel down the length of her, admiring his handiwork.

"No brassiere, love? How uncivilized for a _princess._"

She wants to snap back at him but his hold on her is starting to make her vision go hazy at the edges, even as she feels him slice through what's left of her leggings, the fabric pooling at the junction of her thighs, effectively exposing her. He smiles, dark and dangerous and _it makes her blood fucking sing_ because that's why she didn't wear any underwear. She wanted to see his face.

She's fumbling to quickly fill her lungs again as his hand slides down her chest and over her toned stomach, slipping between her legs. His calloused fingers are rubbing at her clit and she's going to _fall_ if he keeps doing that, but he moves on and fingers at her opening, massaging her folds with his palm as a single digit slips in effortlessly. His lips are brushing her ear, his voice so low it's nearly a vibration through their bodies.

"So wet. It would seem you _like_ being treated like this. Tell me Emma," and he nips at the flesh beneath the edge of her jaw, "all the dirty things you want me to do."

She really is trembling now, his weighed pressing her into the wall her only support as her knees quiver, his finger pumping slowly in and out of her. He's adding more, moving a bit more harshly and she's whimpering, hardly aware of what she's saying to him.

"There's a good girl."

And he's gone from her again, which means she's collapsing onto her knees. She looks up to see he's only undoing his belt buckle, yanking down the zipper and pulling out his cock. Her eyes shoot up to his when she sees he's not fully hard yet, can see the challenge in his expression so she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. She sucks gently at first; short shallow bobs as his still slick hand wipes her wetness across her cheeks and into her hair. It's the most intimate caress he's given her since this started and she turns into it.

He slips out.

He growls down at her and she takes him in again, but he's already responding. He thrusts forward, hitting the back of her throat, making her gag, and he's still moving, still pushing past to fuck her mouth. She tries hard to calm her breathing and open for him. She feels so vulnerable, so weak. He could fuck her right now, could cum down her throat, make her drink it all and leave her there a quivering unsatisfied mess on the floor. Her hands are skittering across his thighs, nails scraping at the dark jeans as she feels the panic start to rise. She can't breath again, feels like she's starting to float away and that's when he pulls back, lets her gulp in some air and then shoves back in, right past her uvula and she's so surprised she moans around him. He catches her hair close to the roots, angles her head how he wants and she's soaking, dripping on the floor and soaking the torn fabric between her legs.

He seems satisfied enough with that reaction and pulls out again just as she's reaching down to finger herself. He kicks away the hand and drags her to her feet. He turns her so she's facing the wall before she's shoved against it, nipples raking painfully and she's sure she'll get a splinter but _god he's pressing up against her in the best possible way_.

"Did I say you could touch yourself, Emma?"

Her cheek is against the wood, her entire weight flush against it as she tried to turn her head enough to look at him.

"N-no."

_SMACK!_

"Excuse me?"

She's whimpering now, can feel the heat blossoming on her ass, a perfect red imprint of his hand.

"No, _sir._"

He licks a long line up her skin, nibbles lightly on her lobe before he bites harshly at the crook of her neck. The pain spikes and she squirms desperately to get away. He's sucking on the spot, branding her though she can't imagine why. She'll have finger-shaped bruises littering her skin in the morning anyways. He presses closer to her still and she bucks back into his crotch, his cock so hard and hot and _tempting_ and she**_will not beg_**.

He's pulling her away from the door suddenly, marching her towards the back of the couch and then she's bent over it, her arms wrenched behind her, secured by a few knots he makes from her ruined shirt. Her abdomen hurts from the pressure. The back of the sofa is just a wooden frame covered by some upholstery and she's acutely aware of the bruises forming on her hips as he presses her harder into it. He's leaning over her, hand wandering across her sides and over her breasts, palming them briefly.

"What ever am I going to do with you, darling? So misbehaved."

She's quaking, forced up onto her tiptoes to try and maintain some balance. His hand's travelled down to her ass, rubbing and massaging and she's nearly moaning because it just feels _so good_ and then she jerks away, a fresh slap followed by another and another. He's quick and harsh and unrelenting and she's crying by the end of it, begging him to stop.

He does, but then he slides into her and she's stretching again and Emma can't seem to remember the last time she had sex and he just seems so _big._ He's straightened now, let's her drape herself limply over the couch as he slowly pulls out, only to slam back in. She gasps, arches and he does it again, over and over and she's so over fighting him so she just moans and mumbles incoherently. She hears him ripping the crotch from her leggings, thrashes as he stuffs it into her mouth and adds,

"You're so wet, love. So ready and hot. I'm going to enjoy taking you, ravishing you like the treasure you are."

Her jaw is locked in place from the gag and she makes a muffled whimpering sound at his words, his hips keeping a steady pace. His hook is digging into her ribs, just short of breaking through the flesh and it just adds to the fire in her, makes her eyes cross with the overwhelming sensations and she's cumming, hard and fast and breathless. Her vision goes white for a second and when she comes back to herself, he's fucking her harder, her hands no longer tied.

"Touch yourself. I want you to touch yourself while I fuck you."

Her arms feel heavy but she complies anyway, rubbing circles on her clit. She doesn't even understand how it's possible to start climbing again, but she is. He feels so good in her, his thrusts shaking the entire couch, her hair dancing wildly around her as she gasps and curses and rubs harder, pulls and pinches at herself.

And then she feels his thumb, almost soothing, trailing down her crack and teasing the rim of her puckered hole. He doesn't push in, not yet, just keeps fucking her hard, hook imbedded into the wooden frame of the sofa for leverage.

"Your ass is so sweet, Emma. Pink and swollen and just _begging to be fucked_. Should I? Do you want me to bury myself in your asshole?"

She's shaking her head furiously, even as the thumb pushes in, past her anal ring and into her. It's so invasive, makes her feel so completely at his mercy, as though that were possible. But then it's gone and he's pulling her free hand up behind her and placing her index finger at the entrance, telling her to fuck her ass as she rubs her clit. She's crying again, so humiliated because _she loves it._ Loves the commanding tone in his voice, the control he has over her. So she starts to fuck herself with one digit as he pounds into her, making her slip out a few times from the force.

And then she's cumming again and his movements stutter and become frenzied. He goes rigid behind her. She can feel his warm cum coating her insides, filling her up and marking her as his own. She's so tired, her hands falling to her sides again as he pulls out. She suppresses the disappointed noise at the loss, just lays limply over the couch, eyes drifting closed.

She wakes up in a bed, unsure of how she got there. Killian is a warm presence behind her, stump wrapped up under her and hand resting lightly on her breasts. His breathing is even and she can feel his heartbeat on her skin, notices how in tune they are as she turns in his arms. He's awake, it seems, because once she's facing him his eyes open and he gives her a lazy smile. She snuggles closer, breathing in his scent.

"How are you, love?" He asks, voice groggy.

"I'm fine. More than fine. Thank you."

He seems to accept that answer because he pulls her closer, nuzzling her hair and whispering, "Gods I love you."

She smiles into his chest, fingers combing through the dusting of dark hair there.

"I love you too, Killian."

**Review?**


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